


Of Use

by Lairenuriel



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anal Sex, Despair, Dom/sub, Eventual Smut, M/M, Master/Servant, Medical Procedure - minor, PWP - Porn With Plot, Vala/maia, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-10-03 15:57:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10250822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lairenuriel/pseuds/Lairenuriel
Summary: After his disgrace at Tol Sirion/Tol-in-Gaurhoth, Mairon has returned to Angband after about a year of self-imposed exile.  Despite being banned from Melkor's Presence and sentenced to spend his days laboring in the mines under his own fortress, Mairon is not capable of forgetting where his true duty lies.Have you ever wondered how Mairon became so adept at manipulation to seduce poor Tyelpe into making the Rings of Power or persuade that git Ar-Pharazon "The Golden" into actually attacking Valinor?(Thank you to Morgause1 - from whom I've "borrowed" the concept of Mairon's punishment in the mines.  And thank you to Jess - fantasychica37 on Tumblr - for the impetus necessary to put this beast to bed - literally.)I would like to Dedicate this story to the both of you in gratitude for the inspiration you've given me.  Thank you again, very much!





	

January 29, 2017 – March 12, 2017

Angband

F.A. 468

 

“ …and get your stupid, incompetent, fucking ass OUT of my throne room!” The Master’s voice rose to a strident howl of uncontained rage, “ Get thee gone, get out of my SIGHT, sniveling little bas…” The God-King’s obscene, insulting barrage grew more creative – impressively so – and louder as a panicked orc General stumbled back from the iron throne upon its raised dais.

Quill scratching steadily over parchment, the Maia seated behind his semi-circular worktable totaled long number columns with his head down. Even when the very stone of Angband’s nethermost Hall began to vibrate with the Dark Lord’s rage, Mairon did not lift his head.

Once he might have attempted to distract their Lord. Now Mairon kept his face bent to the ledgers. When he’d arrived, weary to the bone and stinking of the mine pits, he’d arranged the tall stacks of parchment, vellum maps, and heavy leather-bound ledgers into a barricade between himself and the Master’s throne. With wide, muscular shoulders hunched, he tried to sink a little further behind that teetering shield.

He could offer no help, and the sight of his face might earn an unfortunate lackey a swift beheading. The weight of Melkor’s disfavor hung heavily upon him - gnawed within him like a mad beast. The relentless Interrogations, screamed accusations, and subsequent beating could not wound him as much as his ensuing banishment from the Master’s Presence. Mairon thought for a moment that he would begin the entire, horrendous cycle again if only it meant that Melkor would look at him, speak to him….acknowledge him.

Since his failure to hold Tol-in-Gaurhoth against Melian’s half-elfin brat, and despite over a year of self-imposed exile, Melkor loved him not. Luthien’s theft of a Silmaril ensured it. He shifted his head to peek at the Master from between two haphazard stacks. Melkor paced on the dais, gesticulating contemptuously, screaming hoarse curses to the soot darkened vaults above. Mairon winced each time the Lord landed his weight upon that sore left foot. He could see how the Vala’s pale face contracted, pinching tighter, with each step.

He’d _smelled_ it as the Master stalked past him to ascend the throne. If he possessed only a fraction of the authority he’d once held - several Umaiar siblings would scream under his whip! How dare they let him come to such a state? Unconscionable!

Long ago he’d overcome the natural terror invoked by his Master’s explosive temper to learn that, if one had enough wit, there were ways to…manage Lord Melkor. Except in his worst moments. Otherwise, Mairon would not have risen as high as he had.

The Maia sat back and put the finished ledger onto the pile of completed work. It dwarfed what still awaited him, but he had reached a decision. He gathered another heavy, bound tome and rose to his feet. The Master sat now, glowering at his subdued Court, as Mairon rounded his worktable. He kept his head bent forward to present Melkor with a long curtain of tangled hair as he addressed the throne, “Permission to withdraw, my Lord?”

Melkor said nothing and pointedly turned his face away. Despite this, the Maia bowed deeply and respectfully backed toward the great, ironbound doors. He could feel the entire Court holding its collective breath until he reached the entry and pivoted in a sharp twist.

Mairon went first to the dank, spartan cell that had been his quarters since his return to what had once been his own fortress. He deposited the book – a huge compilation of notes concerning fodder and rations for Melkor’s ever standing army – on the stone floor beside his hard pallet.

Then he turned to retrace his steps until he reached a cleverly concealed tunnel entrance. It led deep in a series of long, dark lines and sharp angles. Existing on no map, it was unknown to most of Angband’s inhabitants. Along the way, he ran across one of the small Umaiar who had survived Utumno’s fall and Angband’s partial destruction. The little creature squeaked in surprise and pressed himself to the wall as Mairon strode by. The Maia reached out to give that ghostly face a brushing slap – “ Wretched!” as he passed. Over his shoulder, “ He smells like rotten blood!” Mairon snarled as he kept going. Unconscionable!

The small shadow turned to follow him, drawn in the higher-ranking spirit’s wake. Mairon emerged into the torch lit alcove before the Master’s private suite – startling two dozing sentries. This was new, and the superior Maia paused, staring at them with glowing amber eyes.

“ Lor…” one of them started then stopped abruptly. “ …Sir,”

“ How long have you been stationed here?” Mairon demanded, “ Speak!”

“ Since the Halfling stole the Master’s…” The first sentry started when his comrade abruptly interrupted.

“ You have no authority,” the second interjected angrily.

Mairon came forward in a silent, graceful lunge. He grabbed this insolent sibling by a muscular throat and bounced his head off the wall behind him with a loud smack. “ You do not reprimand me!” He hissed, “ Under no circumstances do _you_ reprimand _me_ , is that **clear**?”

“ Ah, Sir,” the first sentry sighed out, “ Good to have you back.” The second was too busy sinking down to the floor to say much, but he did produce a thick groan.

“ I have not been here. You have not seen me.” With one foot, Mairon hooked the second sentry’s legs and hauled them from his path.

“ No, Sir.” Came the contented reply.

“ Vole,” Mairon turned to the small Umaia trailing behind him, “ Open them.” Vole skittered around him and pressed two thin black lips to the crack where the doors met. A tiny spell whispered in the darkness and the black doors – carved with protective sigils and runes laid by Mairon’s own hand – swung silently open. “ In.” Mairon reached down to give the little sibling a push.

Chittering softly, least went first. Mairon snapped his fingers to trigger the bioluminescent crystal glow globes. It took several long moments for the Master’s front chamber to fill with dim, diffuse light.

When Mairon could see, he blinked in sharp dismay. The front chamber looked as if war had raged within. What few tapestries remained on the walls hung in shreds. The others were scattered in colorful tatters. All the furniture lay overturned or shattered: Melkor’s heavy, teak desk reduced to splinters. The plush armchair remained upright, its upholstery clawed to strips. The stuffing poked out in ragged lines. The Maia breathed out sharply, his heart suddenly pounding in his chest as if he’d run a league.

He went through to find that the bed still stood. Its dressings hung shredded. The bedside cabinet doors lay on the floor. The tables, once holding pitchers and goblets, heaped together in a jagged pile in one corner. Fine downy feathers lay like a thin coat of snow over all.

Picking his way gingerly through the mess, Mairon peered into the pump room. He winced when he saw what remained of his large copper bathtub - a charred, twisted ribbon amid shards of smashed pottery. Precious oils, unguents, and salves dried in smears or spatters from ceiling to floor.

“ Oh my Lord, oh my Lord,” he whispered under his breath as he surveyed the wreckage. A second little Umaia emerged from amidst the rubble. Her small, anxious face gave no relief. For once, he had no amusement in her awkward, semi-squat of a curtsy.

He spoke in a thin, dazed voice, “ It stinks in here, Rat.” For the stench of rotten blood lay dank and virulent throughout.

She squeaked once and wrung both little hands. Ashen faced, with tremendous dark eyes, she skittered over the mess to take hold of his tunic hem. A flood of images surged from her. Mairon took in flashes of disjointed destruction – his own face becoming stark as snippets revealed that this was not a single outburst but a continuous storm.

“ They madden him, but he will not put them by,” Mairon whispered, “ And now look, oh, _look_ what they make of him…oh my Lord…” The Maia stared at old, black blood caked in the carpet. Melkor’s footprints.

“ O, my Lord,” he moaned as his legs gave way. Mairon juddered down to his knees. Falling onto jagged debris gave him a jolt of pain, but it barely registered. The frantic convulsion of his heart pained him more acutely. Mairon spread one hand across his chest as if to contain the frenzied organ. His other hand clapped over his mouth to stifle a sob.

Dazed amber eyes swept over the upheaval again, then again. Rat kept her hold on his plain linen tunic, working it between her deft little fingers. A continuous tremor wracked her as she stood beside him.

Mairon swallowed hard, attempting to regain a small measure of his normal stringent composure. He dragged several shuddering breaths through his nose and straightened where he knelt. Unclamping his hand from his mouth, he forced air past the lump in his throat, “ Where are my trunks? My apothecary kit…”

Rat tugged on his tunic. He rose to unsteady feet and let her draw him to the storage chambers. There, his heavy ironbound trunks - upended and overturned - seemed intact. He breathed a sigh of relief and pushed his way amid them. The Maia hauled up one square box, righting it. He rested his hand on the ornately carved top.

“ Here.” He said, more to himself, “ Here now, we must restore a measure of order. We must provide the Master some comfort. Tell those idiots outside I want them.” He said down to the small Umaia who still clutched at his tunic. “ Go on, tell them we have much to do and little time…” Rat refused to release the scrap of linen in her hands, but she turned to deliver a sharp shrill to her counterpart. Vole had trailed along behind them and now stood twitching in the doorway.

“ Go on, Vole, fetch them.” Mairon turned also. “ Make haste.” He used the shaky strength still coursing through trembling muscles to straighten his trunks. Rat began to pick up the remains of some small things – little implements, the scattered bells from his timepiece, various tools – that littered the floor. He’d barely managed a semblance of order when he heard Vole’s shrill chitter. Turning, Mairon lunged for the door. Stunningly agile, he negotiated the strewn refuse with fleet-footed grace.

Tawny eyes flared with outrage as he saw that the second sentry held Vole dangling by the scruff of the neck. “ Unhand my servant!” The Maia cast his Will in his voice. A shock of power rang across the short distance. The soldier jerked backward, his hand reflexively opening. Mairon kept on, one arm swinging backward. Something hard settled flat in his palm, and instinct told him what it was. Braided leather around a solid stock felt right, natural, and his hand gripped it. Automatically catching the lash under two fingers, Mairon came down with his whip.

“ Don’t touch my servants!” Hissed between clenched teeth, “ Insolent filth…” He produced a steady stream of low curses – much like their Master had earlier but this was a quiet, driven tirade. Rat and Vole were his, had been his since he assumed command of Angband so very long ago. He would suffer no hand upon them but his own and he informed the sentry of this with a barrage of rapid, well-aimed strikes from his whip stock.

Cracking it across an unguarded cheek, his blow forced the sentry’s head left then right as his arm swung back in smooth motion. Once released, the surge of rage overpowered reason. Mairon set-to. Blow upon blow pounded down on armored shoulders, on helmed head, and the lesser Umaia had no chance to raise a defense as Mairon drove him to the stone floor.

The violent swell of emotion – grief and despair mingled with impotent anger – ended as abruptly as it had erupted, leaving Mairon standing with his whip hand upraised. The haze of rage shattered around him. He became aware. Shuddering breath ripped through him and he suddenly felt the burning ache in his shoulder. Vole huddled behind Rat, one arm around her waist, further into the Master’s chambers while the first sentry stood in the open doors, leaning on his pike.

“ Told him.” The standing Umaia said laconically.

Mairon lowered his arm, his dazed glance taking in the stock in his hand. Braided leather, smooth as butter, showed its clever pattern. Knot, stock, thong, he knew each intimately for this was his own work. It took him another moment to realize that Vole was not hiding behind Rat but keeping her in check – and he knew that she had placed the whip in his hand.

Outside, in the corridor, a silent current of curiosity swirled and several shadows darted along the door frames but did not dare enter. Another deep, ragged breath and Mairon drew himself to his full height. Broad shoulder set rigid, his face coldly austere, the superior Maia issued a staccato series of commands.

“ Get in here. You lot, yes you too, in - now. Lively! Wood there,” He pointed with his whip stock. “ Tapestries there. Neat piles. Lively, I say!” The disembodied spirits swirled toward him, a living shadow comprised of many shades. The conscious sentry, setting his pike aside, hurried to join them.

“ We need the furniture from my tower suite. The rugs, the tapestries - everything. Now!” Mairon snapped. “ Not you, Rat. From you I need three basins. And enough snow to fill two with cold water – for his hands. The third must be deep enough for his foot. That water must be hot. Vole, make sure my second apothecary kit comes down. I fear for the contents of this one under such rough handling.

First, let us be rid of _that_.” He indicated the unconscious sentry at his feet. Vole and Rat each grabbed a wrist and started to pull the other Umaia towards the storage chambers in the back. Mairon bit back a dark smile, “ No, no,” He scolded, “ His absence would be noted. Take him that way.” Pointing to the main doors. Rat made an angry grimace. Vole’s black brows drew together. Mairon made a little gesture with his whip. As they started to haul on the unconscious sentry again, “ Yes, that way. He’d just give you the gripe.”

Tucking the stock into his breeches at the small of his back, Mairon joined the sea of unseen hands in gathering scattered debris. He issued orders as they worked, sending one shade off to find Kosomot, “ Inform him I need strong backs – quickly. Tell him why. And that we need a wheelbarrow. Go.” A dozen Yrch, with two wheelbarrows, soon arrived.

“ No, roll them up. They’re ruined,” Of the carpets, “ Burn them in the foundry furnaces. Burn it all.”

“ Someone get a broom. And a mop.” Rapid industry saw the emptying of everything but the bed. “ Lay fires in each hearth. No, I’ll light them.” And when the furnishings from his chambers began to arrive, “ Stack them neatly along the hall. We must get the carpets down first and they’ll be the last to come.”

Some of the smaller pieces he turned back, but his suite had been equipped with furniture suited for Melkor’s comfort – big enough to hold the Vala’s much larger, muscular frame – and those Mairon arranged strategically.

Hours later, though how many he could not say, he paused to assess their progress. “ Wine in the pitcher by the bed. Whiskey on the desk.” This one was fine dark mahogany rather than the heavy teak. “ Don’t rip those sheets, they’re silk, watered silk, you fool!”

“ Make sure there’s ink in the well. How melts that snow, Rat?” He disliked turning his attention from the final details, but now he must focus on his original purpose. “ Put those tables before the chair arms – set the shallow basins on them.”

He finally opened his first apothecary chest and assessed how many vials and bottles had survived. Many more than he’d believed possible due to velvet lined cubbies in the trays he lifted forth. “ Ah, yes, opium.” He said, “ You survived well.” As he set the ceramic bottle aside. “ Tincture of willow bark, yes, you too. Excellent. And the colloidal silver, _very_ good.”

Between both kits, Mairon laid out a series of vials and bottles. When Vole passed him, Mairon thrust out a string of solid gold beads, “ Boil these then bring me the water.” Vole took the beads and disappeared into the back rooms.

Measuring several drops of opium tincture, “ Give him this goblet first.” To Rat as she skittered by with an armful of fresh bed drapes. Then he pulled out a mortar and pestle to grind arcane ingredients into paste. He sang a soft spell into it as he worked. Just as he finished scraping every smear of salve into a small, lidded tub, Vole brought him a bronze pot of steaming water. The small Umaia chattered at him, as he reached in to reclaim his gold beads.

“ Leave it there.” Mairon instructed absently, indicating a clear patch of table. He dried the beads and put them back in their velvet-lined niche. After measuring a series of ingredients into the three basins, he gathered the bottles, jars, and vials and put them away. “ These apothecary kits need hiding. Out of sight is out of range.”

Rat brought him a bucket with chunks of ice still floating in the melt. As he set the bucket under the Master’s armchair, she shrilled at an orcling standing idle. With several ultra sonic commands, she pointed imperiously at the two leather-bound boxes.

“ I wouldn’t leave her waiting,” Mairon cautioned the wincing orc, “ She bites.”

It was not long before the last details were settled to the Maia’s satisfaction. He dismissed the Yrch with a brief gesture, but made a point to thank the unseen swirl of shadow Umaiar before pointing out the still open door, “ Go.”

A moment’s idle thought and a flicking gesture ignited all the fireplaces throughout the Master’s suite. He took the faintly steaming pot of gold infused water between both hands. Pouring heat into it, he brought it back to a gentle bubble.

“ **Mairon.** ” the deep, resonant voice startled him, and he jerked around. A sylphlike sprite stood glowing in the doorway. Rivulets of fire flowed under dark flesh in ever-moving patterns. A wreath of smoke, greatly resembling horns, hung about its head.

“ Kosomot!” he exclaimed, “ You leapt my heart!”

“ **Is this one asleep at his post or is he unconscious? Where’s the other?** ” The sprite indicated something Mairon could not see – but did not need to – outside in the entryway.

“ Is he still out? Perhaps I hit him rather hard.” Mairon mused.

The second sentry, now divested of helm and breastplate, came from the back rooms with Rat and Vole. He carried his armor in his hands. The two small Umaiar held his pike between them, but the moment Rat saw who stood in the doorway, she dropped her end to scurry forward. The iron point clanked gently onto the newly lain carpet. The sentry exclaimed, “ Gothmog!” in dismay.

Rat came to a halt before the Balrog captain and this time her squatting curtsey was very deep. A strange grimace stretched her black lips. Many tiny, glistening fangs beamed up. Vole pulled up the pike and a silent snarl crossed his darkening face as its point swung towards the open door and its occupant.

“ **There’s my girl!** ” The fire demon exclaimed, reaching down to pat Rat’s slick dark hair. “ **Gonna have another run at me, little brother?** ” Kosomot, Gothmog of Angband, asked Vole in amusement, “ **Didn’t work out well for you last time.** ” He reminded.

“ Please don’t muck about with my servants.” Mairon sighed, “ Vole, help your sibling put his breastplate back on and give him back his weapon.” To the Sentry, “ He has plenty of experience, he’s quick. If he makes a break, grab him.”

Rat reached out for the Balrog’s hand, and Kosomot gave it to her. Holding it between both her own, she was content. The Balrog captain said, “ **I’ve come with the new rotation. They’re waiting to relieve these two. The Master has ordered constant guard. Looks like you’re going to have to carry that dead weight.** ” To the conscious sentry.

“ Told him.” Came the same laconic reply. He had sunk to one knee so Vole might reach the leather straps and buckles that linked cuirass to backplate. Grousing silently, emitting one or two ultrasonic grumbles, Vole worked swiftly. The sentry had secured his pike under his bent knee, rather diplomatically.

“ **If I were standing tall, I’d take you up on my shoulder,** ” the Balrog flirted with Rat, “ **And we’d go terrify some Yrch.** ” She crooned and pressed his hand to her cheek, nearly wiggling with pleasure.

“ Enough of that.” Mairon muttered, “ Rat, back to.”

“ **Away then, little one, be about your duties.** ” Kosomot retrieved his hand. With one last horrific flash of teeth, she pattered back into the deeper chambers. Vole jerked hard on the sentry’s last strap – making the larger Umaia grunt – before he turned to follow hard on her heels.

“ **I never forget the service she did me back in Utumno, bringing me to your forge.** ” Kosomot informed Mairon, “ **I owe her much.** ” He stepped into the Master’s suite so the sentry could slip past him. The captain ordered over his shoulder, out the door. “ **Get him up, we soon depart.** ” Turning back to Mairon, “ **The Master takes a turn on the battlements, then he says he will retire. I thought you should know.** ”

“ Good, good. He _must_ get off that foot.” Mairon readied the heated water with a dollop a salve. He stirred it in with his fingers, making sure it completely dissolved. “ If Himself hadn’t crushed that elf, I’d have much joy in killing him. _Such_ a pity he can’t die twice.” Almost to himself.

“ **We miss you in council. They last forever, and they’re fucking boring.** ”

“ Yrch talk a great deal, and do little - without proper encouragement.” Mairon mused softly. He wrapped his hands around the pot, heating the water just another degree or two. The Maia paused at the sound of rapid, clothy slaps from somewhere beyond. Then they plainly heard a series of soft squeaks rise…and fall. Mairon’s golden eyes turned toward the noise, “ Ah, my vermin reconcile. Would that all love were so simple…” Unaware of the wistful pain betrayed by his quiet voice.

As Mairon turned to place the bronze pot on the fire hob, Kosomot surveyed him somewhat sadly, and wisely held his smoking tongue. Their Master’s Favor had been bestowed for so long, so constantly… “ **I’ve a fresh cask of whiskey. Come down to the lava pools**.”

“ Alas, no time for little pleasures now, I’m afraid.” Mairon turned back with his face and voice under their customary stringent control. “ I’ve what seems a decade’s worth of paperwork in sore need of attention, and since I’m banished to the mines for most of the day…”

Kosomot considered his response carefully, “ **I understand you’re giving them a rough time. But reports reach me that output has doubled.** ”

“ Tripled.” Mairon corrected simply, without pride. “ So much effort wasted with inferior veins – I’ve merely refocused their priorities.”

“ **I’ll save the cask.** ” The captain said stoutly, “ **For when we can share it over a long soak. Now, I must be off. Drills tonight. We’ll miss you there, too**.”

“ I must be off myself, before Himself finds his way down.” Mairon nodded. “ Ey, vermin, attend me a moment,” he called back into the suite, “ We must lay plans.” Giving Kosomot a brief, tight smile, “ Later, my friend.”

“ **Aye**.” The Balrog captain nodded. He stepped back into the foyer - “ **No, I’m not going to help you carry him!** ” - closing the doors behind him. Then there was quiet.

Several moments later the pair of small servants emerged from the back chambers. Both carried crude iron bowls. Rat came directly, proffering hers. “ What’s this?” In mild surprise, “ Your sup?”

She squeaked once and pushed it a little higher, almost standing on her toes. He took the offered portion of gruel. Rat pattered back to where Vole stood – his bowl held two spoons – and the pair watched him anxiously with large, black eyes.

He lifted his own spoon. “ Thank you.” Somberly. He was pleasantly surprised to find bits of stewed meat mixed with millet boiled in some kind of milk – goat’s milk, he thought, from the tang – and took his second mouthful with greater pleasure. “ As good as a feast,” he assured them, altogether truthfully. After the rations he’d been eating lately – this _was_ a feast.

Rat chittered softly, took up her own spoon, and offered Vole the first mouthful. Her companion chittered back before he ate it.

Mairon sank cross-legged onto the floor, jerking his head at them once lightly, to finish the simple meal. They drew closer, though they remained standing.

“ Himself is coming. You must give him wine straight away, even before you have his armor off. It will make him drowsy – I’ve added ten drops of opium, you see – because he won’t know it’s there. When he takes off the crown, cover it with a cloth as soon as you can, so the light won’t distract him. Then he’ll be of a _much_ better mood and you can get him to sit to put his hands in the bowls.”

Rat stopped eating and shrilled once, pointing at him with her empty spoon.

“ No, no, I cannot stay.” She jabbed the spoon at him again, then down at the floor, “ No, my face pains him. It will not do.” Shaking his head, “ Listen now, the cold water in the hand basins. The hot in the foot basin. Let him sit as long as he will. One of you must take his foot and draw forth the bone splinters,” Vole dropped their nearly empty bowl. Now two pairs of tremendous black eyes stared at him in abject horror. Both slick black heads shook frantically at him. “ Oh, really – are you Maiar or are you mortals?” Mairon demanded indignantly.

They only shook their heads more frantically. Vole went so far as to scoop Rat up in one arm and shove her behind him.

“ What good are you then?” Mairon scathed coldly, “ What **_use_** are you then?”

Rat leaned around Vole to point her spoon at the carpet, intensely adamant.

“ I _cannot_ stay,” He snapped, then stopped abruptly. His head gave a feral twitch, snapping one ear round toward the door. This time the crack of pike butt upon stone was audible to all three.

“ Master!”

“ Master!” the new sentries called out.

“ Shut your fucking gobs!” Melkor’s snarl rattled the doors in their frames.

“ Shit,” Mairon mouthed, “ SHIT!” He lunged to his feet. Vole snatched up his empty bowl and, pushing Rat behind him, retreated in a panicked skitter toward the inner chambers. “ He didn’t take a whole turn,” Mairon whispered, “ Shit!”

“ I **know** who I am – who else would I be, pray tell? Why does this hall **stink** of Yrch?!”

Rat, alone, kept her wits about her in this moment. She swept out from around Vole, grabbed Mairon by one sleeve, and pulled him towards the back rooms. She swatted Vole then pointed at the doors. As she yanked with all her might on the much taller, superior Maia, she bared all her tiny pointed teeth at Vole. Then she grabbed the bowl in which they’d shared their supper, and jerked Mairon’s sleeve so hard the linen ripped.

“ She’s right, hurry, welcome him in,” Mairon breathed out, as he scooped up Rat. Two long, graceful – silent – leaps took them into the bedroom. He continued into the very back storage chamber and crouched behind his – now neatly – stacked trunks.

Turning her to face him, he whispered, “ I’m sorry I compared you to a mortal. Clearly sorry. Now, get out there and make sure you give him the _right_ wine goblet!” Rat nodded jerkily and handed him her bowl before she darted back they way they’d come – leaving the door open a crack in her wake.

Mairon leaned his back against a trunk and held the bowls stacked in his lap for a moment or two, breathing deliberately to steady his nerves.

“ What is THIS?” Melkor’s strident demand filtered plainly through two rooms. Mairon steeled himself as every muscle instinctively twitched. Reaction demanded response, pushed words into his throat to choke him as he clenched his teeth against them. “ When did _this_ occur?” And in a less enraged, more irritable tone, “ Give me the wine, then.”

Sharply quelling the urge to rise and report that still surged through him, Mairon set the gruel bowls on the floor. Drawing several, deep, focusing breaths, he considered his options. There was another way out of these chambers, but it involved trespassing through a room he…he feared. He only knew it existed because Melkor bade him conceal its entry. When the Master had returned in triumph with his prize – those accursed elfin gems – and taken Angband as his Seat, he’d delved himself a new inner chamber…a sanctuary and secure vault.

The door was hidden by many strong spells, which Mairon had created and laid upon Melkor’s command. But the Vala had cast his own memories, his own nightmares, into that chamber and Mairon winced again now as he recalled his one brief glance into that room.

Memories of the Void cascaded down its walls in constant flow. Wrong angles, absent spaces, a creeping cold that froze both eye and soul pulsed within and Mairon knew that he…indeed _any_ lesser being…could never make it through Melkor’s last retreat unscathed. Sane. Better beaten to pulp than try. In the Maia’s long life, nothing else had invoked such a terror in him: for within those walls Melkor’s rage, memory, and madness became manifest.

‘ Once he’s retired, I’ll crawl out on my belly.’ Mairon decided. For Melkor, even in sleep, would feel the energy he needed to shift shape. And now Melkor needed to sleep: another damage done to him by those accursed elfin gems.

Distracted by the whip stock digging into his spine, Mairon leaned forward to pull it from his waistband. He shifted from a crouch to sit cross-legged on the stone floor. Laying the whip across his lap, his fingers automatically traced up and down the leatherwork – looking for imperfections to mend. There were none.

How long he sat, he had no notion. Listening intently, he studied each small noise that filtered back through the suite. There was a thump or two. He heard Melkor laugh, soft, sharp and short, before uttering a curse that sounded almost good-natured. Then quiet descended again.

Eventually, Vole appeared with a washing basin filled with water, a thin sliver of soap, and a cloth. The small Umaia gave him an encouraged glance before slipping back into the suite proper. In silence, Mairon divested himself of his linen tunic, and began to wash the smells of the mine pits – broken stone, dirt, and raw iron ore – from his golden skin. The ink from his fingers. He slipped off his breeches and boots to make a complete job of it, despite the small amount of water. Whenever it grew too cold for comfort, he paused to wrap his hands around the wide basin and bring the decreasing water back to a decent, hot temperature.

Rat brought him a pitcher of fresh water from the pump room as he sat damp and drying. The small Umaia unwrapped a towel from around her shoulders and pulled two small bottles from inside her simple dress: sand soap and scented oil for his hair. Then she quietly dumped the cloudy contents of the basin down one of the air vents and brought it back to him.

Standing before him with her hands on her hips, she gave him a series of images – Melkor drinking the wine, having another, letting them get his armor off with barely any fuss though he’d slung one boot at her – more for his own amusement than any wrong done – but she was used to the Master’s whimsy. And Mairon smiled himself, nodding a little.

They’d taken away the Master’s thick quilted gambeson and breeches before dressing him again in his evening robes. He’d left his supper untouched to drink two more goblets of wine…and finally, finally, settled in the armchair with its waiting basins of cold water. Rat had filled the foot basin with the hot, gold-infused water from the hob but when she’d left Melkor had still not put it to use.

Before slipping back out again, she paused to open one trunk and pull forth a long silk tunic – embroidered with gold dragonets and serpents around collar, cuff, and hem. He stared longingly at it for several moments then, against his better sense, he reached for it. She also pulled forth a deep gold velvet robe and looked at him hopefully. When he shook his head, Rat left it atop the closed trunk lid to tempt him.

With careful measure, Mairon washed his hair. Just as he finished with the contents of the pitcher, Vole brought him another and made him pause while the full basin went down the air vent.

“ That does go someplace, you know.” Mairon whispered. Vole shrugged. This time the small Umaia stayed long enough to pour the pitcher and help him get a thorough rinse. Mairon was massaging the oil into his hair when Rat snuck back in with a wooden cup filled with wine.

“ Did he eat?” Mairon pressed, still in the faintest whisper. Rat shook her head and pretended to drink from the cup before she put it down beside him. “ He _should_ eat.” That much wine, combined with the opium tincture, might make him pass out – another small indignity inflicted upon their Lord by those damned, glowing jewels. Mairon scowled at her beneath the heavy length of his wet hair, “ Get his foot in that basin!” He hissed, “ Go on!”

“ Vermin, more wine! No…whiskey. Vermin – whiskey!” Melkor’s demand rose loud enough to reach the cowering Maiar even in this far chamber.

Rat grimaced and darted away. Mairon wrapped his hair in the towel she’d brought and sat back against the trunk again. At this rate, Melkor would certainly pass out in the chair. Mairon eyed the wooden cup full of rich red wine sitting on the floor.

“ No, get that slop away!” Melkor’s growl suffered a discernible slur.

“ Get his foot in that basin,” Mairon had a growl of his own under his breath. He scooped up the little cup and drained it in an irritated twitch. As the false sense of warmth hit his stomach, he pushed himself to his feet. Sliding the long silk tunic over his head, Mairon crept silently to the door. He listened a moment. Giving his hair one last press with the towel, he let the long length hang damp down his back and threw the sodden cloth on the trunk beside the gold robe. Emboldened by the silence, he decided he would dare a foray.

The carpet in the bedroom was one of his favorites: plush, red, gold, and yellow. Bare feet took him silently to the bedroom door. One eye peered into the sitting room. The bioluminescent globes still gave off their steady but dim glow. One of the vermin had lit a pair of wax tapers on the mahogany desk. With the crackling light of the fire, Mairon had more than enough light.

He could see Melkor in a side view and breathed in deep relief when he realized all three basins now saw proper use. The water in the foot basin had assuredly cooled. He bit his lip as the longing to go warm it rose like hunger in his throat. Unless the water was hot, it would not draw out loose slivers of bone from the wound. That Noldo bastard, Mairon’s brows knotted, and he again wished elves might die twice – the Maia would ensure that a second death would be much slower. Much more methodical.

He gave a silent start with he felt something pressed hard into his palm. Looking down he saw Rat skitter past. For a moment, he thought it was his whip. Then he realized that this gave softly when his fingers instinctively tightened around the leather. Tool roll, he identified with a swift glance. He drew back to shoot an angry glance around his shoulder, but Rat had disappeared. So had Vole. Mairon realized why a moment later.

Melkor’s dark, unsteady murmur rolled along the carpets. “ I can smell you.”

Swallowing hard, Mairon took an involuntary pace back from the door.

“ Little pillow-biter,” The Master’s thick whisper froze the Maia mid-step, “ My tiny cocksheath - I can _smell_ you.”

Mairon shuddered, creeping forward again. His forehead pressed to the edge of the open door and a silent gasp passed his trembling lips.

“ Everywhere….I feel your heat. Smell your scent,”

Response flared in Mairon’s belly, contracted taut muscles painfully. Sweat broke out over his whole body as the Compulsion Melkor had long ago anchored within him blossomed in reciprocation. He clutched the door latch hard in his free hand as his legs threatened to give way beneath him.

“ _Thû,_ _”_

He came undone. Mairon sank to his knees, sliding down the thin edge of the door. Clinging to the handle, he gasped again, forgetting to be silent. Not realizing he was half out of the bedroom. Pulse after pulse swept out from his core, weakening his shaking limbs. Mairon bit back the moan trying to worm its way up from his knotted belly.

“ My perfidious little Maia,” Melkor slurred as his head dipped slowly. He jerked it back up. “ Precious…” Nodding again as his chin sank to rest against his chest. He pulled his head up in a jerk, “ Little cowwward,”

Mairon’s head shook silently against the door edge. For a moment his mouth formed a square of agony. Pain speared through him, its intensity leaving him breathless and silent in his denial. He’d underestimated his sister’s half-elfin child…yes. That Melian had a child at all was an abomination - a contradiction against a Maia’s Nature. He’d fled the field not from shame of his overconfidence, or his ignominious defeat, but because he knew… _he knew Melkor no longer possessed the power to re-embody him_. True, he had underestimated Luthien and her damned cur, but he’d fled because _he knew_ – and what good, what _use_ , could he be to his Lord as an insubstantial shade?

How could he serve his Master’s Purpose as a wraith: a mere shadow amid many other inadequate shadows?

Mairon sobbed deep in his throat and, without thought, crawled desperately to his Master’s side, shaking his head the whole, slow trip. Huddled by Melkor’s chair, Mairon succumbed to a wracking convulsion of grief. “ No, no,” he mouthed to himself, “ _No._ ”

“ Little coward,” Melkor slurred in a deep, thick growl.

“ No,” Mairon breathed out, shaking his head again hopelessly.

Melkor hissed and shifted, withdrawing his hands from the cold water. He moved his foot restlessly in the basin on the floor and Mairon crawled forward – uncaring if he were seen, if he should catch another beating – to wrap both hands around the vessel and pour his heat into the water once more. Hot tears finally broke, streaming down taut cheeks, as he looked up.

The Master’s eyes were narrow slits, blind flecks of obsidian behind heavy lids. And the Maia knew that Melkor, in his stupor, did not truly perceive his presence. The triple influence of opium, wine, and whiskey was not strong enough to put his Vala down, speaking to his divinity, but it was enough to remove him from his pain – if only for a short respite. Mairon’s head bowed forward and the swathe of drying hair fell over his face.

Mairon watched Melkor intensely. He slowly unrolled his tool kit and laid it beside the roll of bandages one of the vermin had left. Two bright amber glints glowed through the fall of dark copper hair that shielded his face from Melkor’s gaze. He kept a constant flow of energy into the basin for some time, silent and avid, until Melkor stirred and muttered again.

“ I can smell you, my Thû.”

Mairon shuddered imperceptively at the use of that name, and the intimacy it invoked, as he tenderly lifted the Vala’s foot from the steaming basin. Cradling it in his lap, he first washed away the stinking black blood that clotted stubbornly around the open wound. Then he took a tweeze from his open tool roll and began the painstaking process of catching tiny shards of bone. Lifting or wiggling them forth with utmost delicacy. Drawing each ivory needle-like shard out with careful precision, he worked silently until there were no more sharp ends to draw forth. Beads of golden blood wept forth, turning jet black as the air hit them.

Gathering the salve tub, he spread a thick layer onto both the closed entry wound on the bottom of Melkor’s foot and the weeping exit wound on the top. He wrapped a length of linen bandage around the offending gashes. Now he slipped forward to gather Melkor’s left hand where it hung off the chair arm.

For a moment, memory overwhelmed him – of Purpose, of passion, of sensual intimacy indulged for long hours between silk sheets. He turned Melkor’s hand over to lower his mouth to the Vala’s wrist. Tasting cool flesh with open lips, pressing the heat of his tongue to the heavy pulse that beat steadily beneath, Mairon’s eyes rolled back for a moment. All other sensation dimmed and retreated. Every thought and emotion sharpened and focused.

Sure of his Purpose, if not his place, he remained unmoving a long time…until Melkor stirred above him and let out a long, contented, breath – a sigh. Mairon pulled back, licking the taste of the Vala from his lips in slow deliberation. Now he took up two fingers full of salve to spread a thick layer over burnt flesh. He coated long, sinewy lines in gentle, sensual strokes over the wide palm, between each dexterous finger, before he wrapped the whole hand with clean linen. Then he moved to Melkor’s other side and performed the same slow, adoring procedure on the other hand.

He lifted the foot basin and set it out of the way. Damp and dotted with spots of black blood, his long silk tunic clung to his belly and thighs. Mairon plucked at it once. Finally, he rose and leaned down to whisper, “ Master,” in one of Melkor’s ears.

The Vala stirred, muttering, “ Wine.”

“ This way, my Lord, there’s a full pitcher by your bed.” The Maia coaxed, waiting with tender patience as Melkor drowsed again, stirred, and grumbled that the wine be fetched. “ Come, m’lord, it awaits you.” Mairon enticed in a velvet whisper, “ Cool and red as rubies.”

Melkor got the heel of his good foot under him. As he pushed off from the chair arms, he blearily noted his wrapped hands. “ What nonsssense is thiss?”

“ Of no moment, Master. Nothing at all.” Mairon slipped a supporting arm around Melkor’s waist. “ Pay it no mind. This way, Sire, this way,” The Maia steadied his limping Master as they made their laborious way to the bedchamber. “ Nearly there, Sire,” Mairon encouraged. “ Wine and your sheets await,”

Just before the bed, Melkor stopped abruptly, throwing Mairon off balance. As he staggered, he felt Melkor lean down and push his nose against the side of Mairon’s head. The Vala purred and inhaled deeply.

“ Hmmm, good.”

Mairon considered that his hair must be far from its usual sleek curtain; having dried uncombed and unbrushed.

“ Wine…then you suck my cock.” Melkor slurred into clumped tresses.

Lips lifting in a wry smile, Mairon whispered. “ With pleasure, Master. Vermin,” to the shadows, “ Help me get him undressed.” Sharp amber eyes searched the dim room to find Rat and Vole perched on the fireplace mantle in their rodent fana. Rat, twice the size of Vole’s tiny black puffball, took him in her mouth before she climbed down the wall. Once on the floor, they shifted.

Mairon slipped Melkor’s heavy velvet robe off one shoulder, then stepped back so he could slide the other side off as well. The quilted garment dropped to cover both vermin in a billowing wave of black and gold thread. Rat squeaked with surprise. As Mairon untied the closures of the Master’s silk nightshirt and let the long tunic fall to the carpet, Rat and Vole fought their way out from beneath the robe. They folded it neatly.

“ Watch your foot, Sire,” Mairon cautioned gently while he looped his arm back around Melkor’s waist. As he turned his Lord and helped him sit on the bed, Mairon decided that one more – partial – goblet of wine couldn’t hurt now. For while the Master’s spirit seemed aroused, his flesh was inebriated.

As Melkor levered himself back onto the pillows, Mairon turned to the bedside table, and half filled a waiting goblet from its matching pitcher. “ Here, Master,” the Maia sang, low and throaty, as he turned back, “ Cool and red as rubies.”

“ Hmm.” Melkor dented the goblet as he took it in his swathed fingers, confirming exactly how inebriated he was. As the Vala took an unsteady gulp, Mairon pulled one of the pillows from the pile and slipped it under Melkor’s bandaged left foot. A low rumble into the wine reiterated the command for a cocksucking.

Mairon whispered to the vermin as they folded the nightshirt, “ Get the blood out of this.” And he pulled his own silk tunic over his head to hand it to them. “ Don’t anticipate a show – there’ll be no battering-ram tonight.” As he sat on the edge of the bed, “ Not even _he_ could manage that. Enough wine, Sire?”

“ Suck my cock, Maia.” Melkor sprawled back, the empty goblet forgotten in his bandaged hand. Mairon collected the dented goblet and passed it off to one of the vermin without looking around.

Bed-warmer it is then, Mairon thought, without rancor. Whatever use it must be, it must be. He pushed himself over to where Melkor lay in the center of the vast bed and the Master’s good leg clumsily hooked around Mairon’s narrow waist, trapping him. The Maia leaned over his Lord and, pulling his unruly copper mane over one shoulder, trailed his fingers down the Vala’s hipbone.

“ May I start here, Master?” Mairon caressed Melkor’s balls. “ Please?”

“Hmmm,” Melkor nodded as he reached out to try to wrap his fingers in Mairon’s hair. The Vala growled when he found he couldn’t. Mairon reached back to settle Melkor’s wrist against his nape and arrange the fall of heavy hair as not to tangle with the bandages.

“ Thank you, my Lord,” the Maia breathed out, in all sincerity, as he lowered his mouth and nose. For a moment he lay, inhaling deeply and nuzzling into tender skin. He’d missed this scent, this rich, musky, fleshy smell tinted with cold ash. _Such_ a pity that nothing could come of it, but… with Melkor’s pulse cradled against the back of his neck, the Maia indulged himself in a sensual haze. Marion kissed, and licked, and sucked with deep contentment. He moved naturally on to Melkor’s unresponsive cock with a wet chin and a passionate sigh.

Taking the hooded tip in his mouth, he leisurely ran his tongue under the cowl and teased the concealed nub beneath. Hard and aching, Mairon had to pause a moment to lift his hips and re-arrange his own standing erection more comfortably. He was sucking gently over the top of the Vala’s huge cock, sliding his mouth reverently up and down, when he heard the first snore break the silence above his head. Mairon paused and looked up. Melkor’s wrist slid limp from his neck.

Eyes closed, mouth open, Melkor began to snore in earnest. Long, deep rasps. Probably from having his head up on the pile of pillows, Mairon thought prosaically. For a moment he considered slipping out from Melkor’s encompassing leg, then he decided, ‘ Fuck it. I cannot predict when I’ll have this chance again.’ He went back to sucking on Melkor’s balls, pulling them into his mouth one at a time to lathe them with his tongue. He did so enjoy this.

A long while later Mairon lifted his head to lay his cheek on the Master’s hipbone. Throbbing hard, brimming with frustrated desire, he moaned and muttered silently against Melkor’s cool flesh. One or two quick strokes would be all it took, he thought, for he was primed to the edge of pain…but…it would be a liberty above his place. A betrayal and a disobedience – even if the Master never knew. So he rolled onto his back, resting his head on Melkor’s thigh, and mouthed vile curses to the ceiling above. He jerked, head turning sharply, when a cold wet cloth landed on his aching length.

Rat peeked over the edge of the tall bed with a sympathetic grimace.

“ Be gone, vermin!” Mairon hissed, and she left. “ Go to sleep.” He added, more calmly, a few moments later as he pressed the cool linen to overheated flesh. Deciding he’d retreat back to his cell very soon, he flipped the cold cloth until the painful pulses became a dull throb.

He flipped the cloth again. Nestled between Melkor’s thighs, embraced in his Lord’s distinctive scent and lulled by the soft comfort of a real featherbed for the first time in a very long time, Mairon unwittingly drifted into sleep.

 

The Maia woke with a twitching jerk. Dread came immediately, rising up to choke him. His eyes snapped open. Sure knowledge became disorientation. He could not see! It took a moment to realize the black silk sheet lay over his face, and his hand paused in motion under the fabric.

“…nowhere to be found. He did not report to the Dig-Masters this morning!” Mairon recognized that smug, excited voice. The Overseer of the slave crews that labored in the pits.

“ He didn’t?” Melkor responded. But Mairon knew the Master’s tone much more intimately. Melkor was amused. “ How unlike Mairon.”

“ A thorough search has taken place, O dread King, we even checked the library!”

“ Ah, now, someone _was_ thinking. He can spend decades amid those accursed tomes.”

As he lay wondering exactly what was going through Melkor’s mind – and why he hadn’t been woken by heavy blows or, at the very least, being flipped onto the floor - Rat lifted the sheet to let in a dim flow of light. Vole slid in before to her offer the wooden cup he clutched in both small hands. The Maia reached out to take the cup, finding it full of cool tea. He rolled onto his belly beneath the sheet and drained it quickly. The vermin both gave him a long, studied glance before Vole took back the cup and Rat lowered the sheet. Mairon rolled flat onto his back again.

“ But he’s nowhere to be found, Lord! _Some_ say he’s fled!”

“ Do they?” Melkor was no longer amused. “ And where do they say he’s fled?” Mairon bit his lip, for the trap was so glaringly, glaringly, obvious.

“ Back to the Great Smith, O King, back to his old master…”

‘ That little bastard!’ Mairon thought furiously, ‘ If he catches me a beating, I’ll gift him one back – twice as hard!’ Or perhaps…an unfortunate accident of fana-destroying proportion – the mines were a dangerous place, after all.

“ Do they. And who says this?” Melkor demanded, a black note edging his voice.

Too late, the other Umaia realized his mistake and stayed silent.

“ Do _you_ say this?”

“ No, my Lord, of course not, my Lord!”

“ For I would surely tear the tongue out of anyone who spoke such shit to my face.” Melkor’s voice descended into a deep growl.

“ O – surely, Master, surely!”

The bedroom door slammed open. “ Maia, to which Vala do you look!” Melkor nearly bellowed from the doorframe.

Mairon flipped the sheet down from his face and sat up to sing a paean of adoration in the First Tongue, “ The Might Arising, Lord of Shadows, Smasher of Lamps, Destroyer of the Trees, Master of Night, The Constrainer, Eternal King of Arda and all Ea!” Before falling flat and flipping the black sheet back into place. “ _My Master._ ” To himself snippily.

A soft deep snort of amusement sounded suddenly. Melkor’s voice re-directed toward the other room. “ Tell the Dig Masters he’ll be down when he will – to take their Reports. And assure them that I’ll come down myself should production drop a single ounce. Get out.”

Mairon lay absolutely still, listening intently.  He heard a desperate flurry of groveling apologies and the firm thud of a door.  Then the familiar halting gait as Melkor limped across the chamber.  The Maia’s clever mind darted through options that would displease his Master the least, and save his flesh the most.  Mairon decided on the stance he would assume.  And abide by.

The featherbed dipped deeply as the Vala knelt on either side of his hips.  A moment later, the black silk sheet drew taut across his face as both sides pressed tight to the bed.  Mairon stopped breathing when he felt Melkor’s cheek press against his own through the fabric.

“ Did you dose me, little Maia? And why does my entire groin smell of your hair oil?” Whispered in his ear.

“Dose you, Master? I don’t know what you mean. You had a great deal of wine and whiskey. Then you commanded a cocksucking.”

“ Ah. And did much come of that, little Maia?” So softly.

“ Alas, my Lord, my skills were insufficient. You fell asleep. Perhaps the Master would allow me to redress the issue?”

Melkor sat back up, resting his weight on Mairon’s hips. “ Vermin, did this Maia slip me one of his damned tinctures?” It took everything Mairon possessed to keep the breath from locking in his lungs. Long fingers trailed over the sheet and his face beneath. The vermin chittered as one. Mairon heard the quiet clink of glass. “ Both bottles? And the entire bottle of whiskey…ah.” The vermin gave another simultaneous squeak.

‘ Fresh meat for them as soon as I can arrange it.’ Mairon thought, then, ‘ I should have let them eat that sentry, he wouldn’t be missed _that_ much.’ It would’ve taken him a century to reform flesh for himself and by then no would care.

Melkor leaned back down over Mairon, “ It seems I did drink much.”

“ You don’t remember calling for me, Master?” Mairon feigned dismay, “ Or commanding me to dress your hands? Attend your foot? I beg your pardon, my Lord! By your pleasure, I shall return to my cell.”

“ Shut up,” Melkor laughed. “ Little liar. I _know_ you slipped me something. Drip it on the candles? Dry it in my wine goblet? Diffuse it on the hearth hob?”

“ You do me a great injustice, my Lord.” Mairon made a show of sounding sulky beneath the sheet. “ I had a far better teacher than that!”

Melkor laughed again. “ Yes,” Fingers trailed over his face once more, “ Yes, you did. How very well you’ve learned.” Melkor levered himself up and with a sharp jerk freed the lower part of the sheet.

There was the sound of slithering fabric and when the Vala settled this time, Mairon felt Melkor’s cool flesh over his own naked hips and thighs. He inhaled deeply, compressing his lips tightly together as the conflagration sparked within his belly. It seared outward along locked muscles and showed all too well his immediate response.

The sheet over his face stretched taut again. The Master’s cheek came to rest against his own once more. Mairon could not stop himself from turning his face to rub his cheek against the Vala’s through the slick silk. A ragged breath escaped him.

“ What’s this, little Maia?” Melkor whispered into Mairon’s ear as long fingers stroked up the Maia’s standing erection. Mairon could only respond with a strangled gasp as the Master took him firmly in hand. “ Didn’t fountain, my little one? Usually you do when you suck my cock.”

The Maia nuzzled against the boned ridge of Melkor’s jaw, whispering, “ _No_ , Master. You were asleep.”

“ Asleep, hmmmp, unconscious…” Melkor pinched the tip of his throbbing shaft, hard enough to sting but not to really hurt. Mairon’s hips twitched of their own accord, thrusting into Melkor’s fingers rather than away.

“ Only,” Mairon breathed out, “ For you!”

“ Yes, you come for me. At my pleasure. By my Will,” Melkor growled softly, his blackened hand now assuming a long, slow rhythm over aching flesh, “ It seems _that_ lesson is well taken.”

Mairon’s legs writhed against the sheets, thighs turning outward, under Melkor’s weight. His hips wanted assume the cadence but he brought himself still again.

“ Failures do not deserve to be fucked, Mairon.” Melkor reminded but his voice was low, thick, and deep. And he reached down to scoop Mairon’s balls up with his fingertips.

“ No, m’lord.” the Maia’s response quavered in misery, even as flesh swelled beneath his Master’s caress.

“ Failures don’t deserve a Chain of Office, or authority over my foundry, do they, Mairon?” As he rolled both balls in his palm and tugged them out.

“ No, Master,” Marion struggled to bring his tone back under control. Despite his misery, that long anchored Compulsion resounded within and pounded out wave after wave of building desire. Melkor’s fingers returned to his throbbing length and glided rapidly over tender skin. Mairon’s breath, and control, shattered. An abject moan reeled through the sheet, heating Melkor’s cheek.

“ I put you in the pits and you triple production.”

“ Lazy bastards!” Mairon groaned.

“ I say I will not suffer your face before me yet you appear in my Court.” Melkor’s lips moved beyond the silk barrier and Mairon tried to catch them with his own only to be frustrated by taut fabric.

“ I can make the stacks taller!”

“ And I find you in my bed this very day! Did I truly summon you?” Melkor snarled softly, the sheet now clinging damp from both their breath.

“ Yes, Master!” Mairon breathed out the lie, adding truthfully, “ To ease you, to Serve you, I swear _–_ _I swore!_ ”

“ Yes, you did.” Melkor shifted and his right knee came between the Maia’s tense thighs to shove a space between. When he felt his Master’s hard cock pressed tight to his swollen balls, Mairon ground down against the huge length.

A soft guttural groan wrenched out of him, “ I chose you - however you will let me be of use.”

“ I’m of a mind to be lenient.” Melkor released the Maia’s throbbing cock and closed his hand loosely around Mairon’s throat. Blackened fingers flexed over straining tendons. “ You’ve reminded me that you have many uses.” Mairon found his chin tilted up and his face turned more fully to Melkor’s whispering lips. The Vala’s teeth closed over Mairon’s lower lip, sealing the wet silk between them. Melkor bit lightly on both.

The Maia undulated against the hard length pressed against him in slow, sensual rhythm. He tried to suck on Melkor’s mouth despite the black silk separating them.

The Vala laughed against Mairon’s seeking lips, “ I’m going to fuck you until you scream. When I’m done, perhaps I’ll bind you to the bed. Leave you here ‘til I want to _use_ you again.”

Mairon’s whole body shuddered and another low moan wrenched up from the pit of his stomach. The motion of his hips increased to an almost frantic pace. Melkor laughed again and began to grind down on him. The Vala gnawed at Mairon’s lips then along his jaw to find the extended lines of his throat. Working through the silk, he bit lightly along stretched tendons until the Maia openly gasped and panted.

“ I can feel your heat building, little one, like a furnace under bellows. Do you burn? Do you want it - _need_ it?”

“ Master,” Mairon sobbed, “ Please!”

“ Vermin, the pot, now!” Melkor sat back and Mairon moaned in desolation. The wet silk stuck to his throat immediately began to cool against hot skin.

“ Please you, please you well, my Lord,” the Maia keened, bucking under Melkor’s solid weight.

The Master purred, “ Yes, you will.” Then he growled, “ Don’t stand there gaping, open the damned pot and Be Gone! And shut that fucking door!”

As slick fingers delved between their bodies, the bedroom door slammed. Mairon writhed and tried to lift his hips but Melkor came down over him again, pressing him deep into the featherbed, and penetrated him abruptly. The Maia cried out at the sharp discomfort but writhed all the more desperately as Melkor pressed both fingers deeper. Mairon’s breath stuttered, caught hard in his chest, as the initial sting transmuted into a hungry ache for more – it had been so very long!

“ Master!” Broke from him in a hissing moan, “ Please!”

“ This doesn’t hurt at all,” Melkor mused in mild pleasure. He probed until he found the sensitive gland within Mairon – causing the Maia to jerk and arch – and stroked leisurely at the tender spot. As Mairon twisted and whimpered beneath him, Melkor’s caress slowly increased in speed and pressure. “ Not at all.” With deep satisfaction.

Mairon clawed at the sheet, trying desperately to find and latch onto Melkor’s shoulders above him. Suddenly the knee between his thighs snapped up, lifting his hips, and Melkor’s free arm slammed down on the length of sheet just over his head. Mairon’s restless hands were pinned, trapped, beneath the tight veil of silk.

“ Do you have permission to touch, Maia?” The Vala’s still, dark voice demanded.

Mairon froze, “ No.” he responded in a tiny, desolate breath.

“ Then be still.”

“ Yes, my Lord.”

A moment later, the fingers within the Maia withdrew. Mairon felt Melkor’s fingers hook under one thigh, sliding down to the bend of his knee to draw his leg up tight to his chest. With one burnt hand, Melkor held Mairon in place. Then the Vala shifted slightly, repositioning himself to slide the tip of his cock slowly, so very slowly, into Mairon’s waiting flesh.

The Maia crooned out a long, low sigh of anticipatory excitement. He caught at the sheet above him, crushing the slick fabric into his tightened fists.

“ Be still,” Melkor reminded on a deep, vibrating breath.

“ Oh yes, my Lord,” Mairon keened softly, responding to the slow, deliberate invasion as Melkor sank himself deeper and deeper into receptive flesh, “ Oh yesss…”

Heat flashed along straining muscle and the burning coil of desire centered in his stomach twisted hard. Mairon’s head tipped back as his hips rose to Melkor’s unhurried penetration. The Maia released the long-held fear that he would never again know this unparalleled combination of possession and pleasure as the Master brought himself fully home. Mairon’s breath stuttered out of him in a sudden and complete rush.

“My tight, little Maia,” Melkor rumbled above him. The deep, possessive growl caused the fresh wave of building emotion to burst through Mairon’s tight chest.

“ Yours,” He gave a single, gasped sob as mind, spirit, and body were inundated, filled, with Melkor’s Purpose, with his Master’s undiluted Will, “ Always yours!”

“ Dance for me.” Melkor purred through the silk into one upswept ear. And he began to rock into Mairon’s body so very slowly. Withdrawing and returning with a maddening deliberation. Mairon hooked his free leg over Melkor’s hip, tucking his foot under the Vala’s strong right thigh to give himself the leverage he needed to move in pleasing counterpoint to each long slow glide within him.

“ Only you,” Mairon’s hoarse, ragged whisper sang beneath the black silk as his hips writhed and twisted, “ Only you!”

“ Heat,” Melkor closed his teeth over the curve of Mairon’s ear for a moment, gently working along the sweep of cartilage and flesh, “ Heat, my tiny one, my clever Thû, _”_

Waves of building warmth shimmered off Mairon’s golden flesh causing the black silk sheet to lift and ripple over the featherbed below them. And the Maia burned inside as the hard core of spiraling need expanded from his belly to fill every extremity. Struggling to catch each gulping breath, Mairon could only gasp beneath the fluttering silk that covered his face.

Melkor rumbled into his ear, purring with each exhale. Mairon unexpectedly shattered, giving one choked mewl as the tension in his belly exploded out into every nerve. The sheet snapped upward from the burst of heat as pressure exploded inside the Maia’s skull, ripped the air from his lungs, and intense orgasm pounded through his flesh. Mindless silence engulfed him as spasm after spasm wracked his body.

Above Mairon, Melkor grinned with feral pleasure as the Maia’s hot ejaculate pulsed onto their bellies and his breath strangled in his arched throat. The Vala could no longer loosen the bonds of flesh to absorb Mairon’s heat as he once had, but still he reveled in the intense waves and took much of the expanding energy into the elements of his flesh.

When Mairon went limp, and the heat dimmed to a warm glow, Melkor pulled back. He tugged the sheet aside to study the glistening features below him.

“ That wasn’t screaming.” Melkor observed in a rasp. Mairon panted and struggled to open his eyes. The Vala shifted, taking a moment to adjust how the angle of his left calf kept his sore foot clear from the edge of the bed. He slipped back, almost withdrawing the entire length his still erect cock from the hot little body beneath him.

Mairon made a thick, inarticulate noise. He tried to sink further down on the featherbed and bring Melkor’s cock back deep inside. But Melkor used his superior weight to immobilize the Maia. The Vala rested his forehead on Mairon’s sweat slicked one below. “ Tsk,” He scolded softly.

Then he sealed his mouth to Mairon’s in a full invasion. He possessed Mairon’s lips and tongue until the Maia lost the ability to breath. Melkor reached out to find one of Mairon’s limp hands and interlaced their fingers tightly, palm to palm. Then he drove himself home in a fluid, lunging thrust.

Mairon gave a throaty cry and his free hand snapped down so long fingers could dig into the flexing back above him. When Melkor released his bent leg, Mairon wrapped both around his Master’s muscular waist and locked his ankles in the small of Melkor’s back.

As Melkor built the speed and depth of his rhythm, Mairon clutched desperate fingers into the thick black hair at his Master’s nape. The hand entangled with Melkor’s blackened one tightened convulsively, loosened on a spasm, and tightened again.

The Maia whined into Melkor’s mouth, and lost the ability to engage in the kiss. He strove desperately, writhing and arching in spastic bursts, beneath Melkor’s body in a wrenching dance of exhausted passion. As his movements grew more disjointed, more wildly out of control, little whimpers broke between Melkor’s lips. The Vala pulled back slightly.

“ Come,” Melkor growled into Mairon’s mouth, “ Come,”

Mairon wrenched his head back, sobbing, “ I can’t, I can’t,”

“ You can. You will.”

“ Master, please, ”

“ For me – you will!”

And Melkor engulfed him again in a ravenous kiss. He slid his free hand under the Maia and forced his lower back into an exaggerated arch. The changed angle let Melkor increase his pace smoothly, and ensured that every rapid thrust hit true against the inflamed spot within the Maia’s struggling flesh.

Mairon did scream now – finally! He expelled a flash of heat directly into Melkor’s mouth. Completely overwhelmed, burning rivulets of red, gold, and blue revealed the pattern of flaxen freckles that decorated golden skin. The Maia howled against his Master’s lips and came again.

This time he clenched so tight around Melkor that he locked the Vala’s prodigious cock inside his body. Long legs became a burning vice around his Master’s waist, and Melkor gave a choked groan of mingled laughter and release. He bucked into Mairon’s tight heat, forgetting entirely about burnt hands and wounded foot, as his balls pumped dry into the living firebrand Mairon had become.

The Maia’s fingers clutched Melkor’s burnt hand, and dug into the thick black hair at the Vala’s nape. The Master’s brief laugh became a deep, wrenching groan and the bedchamber walls shuddered with the powerful noise. Beneath them, the featherbed began to give off tendrils of smoke but before it could catch and ignite, Melkor was able, at the height of his pleasure, to absorb the burst of heat. Thoughtlessly, mindlessly, and an electric spark crackled along the long length of black hair floating around them. The bed slammed back against the wall as heat transmuted into pure energy.

Gasping himself, Melkor breathed out, “ Now that , little one, was a scream.”

Mairon heaved violently beneath his lord. Burning amber eyes tried to flicker open. For a moment, glowing yellow irises shone brightly before he failed and his lashes flickered down. He murmured incoherently.

A breathless noise of triumph, of exaltation, left the Vala before he slowly collapsed down onto Mairon’s hips and chest. Long legs unlocked to slide weakly down to curl and entangle over Melkor’s thighs. The Master pulled their twined hands slowly down and tucked both between their bodies.

“ Hmmm, precious,” Melkor purred thickly, “ Many uses.” Mairon gave another incoherent, breathy mewl and tucked his face into the curve of Melkor’s shoulder and throat.

The larger Ainu shifted, sliding out of Mairon’s body. The Maia’s next noise was a whine of protest. Swinging his injured foot first, high above the tangle of sheets and limbs, Melkor rolled onto his back. He took Mairon’s limp body with him, encasing broad shoulders within the curve of his arm. The Maia curled in tighter, pressing his face against pale grey flesh. Melkor pressed their locked hands to his chest for a moment before, with a final squeeze, he let go.

As Melkor sifted his hand through clumped red tresses, he considered his blackened fingers and the copper strands threading through them. He pressed a kiss to the top of Mairon’s head. Lies, of course he recognized the lie, he’d conceived the very concept. But Mairon was adept in his use of them, and growing more skillful as each Age passed. He was, in fact, bringing the use of the simple lie into quite an art. Now he could do it almost as well as Melkor himself.

So long as the Maia exercised this cunning to his Master’s advantage, Melkor would let him think himself undiscovered.

The Vala lay for some time, feeling Mairon slowly cool. He played with the Maia’s long copper mane as contemplative thought moved in worn lines. He knew the portents, he knew the pattern – he’d sung it himself. All too soon, his bright Maia would need every skill, every gift, Melkor had bestowed over the seemingly endless parade of years.

“ Wake up, little one.” Melkor gave the Maia a firm squeeze. Mairon struggled to open his eyes again. “ You’ve a vast pile of work awaiting you.”

The Maia’s muscles tautened. He forced himself from his sensual stupor and amber eyes slid open. Mairon pushed himself up.

“ And the new battalions can’t make a formation without stabbing each other.” Melkor knew exactly what it took to bring the sharp light alive in those tawny eyes. “ But first, attend my foot.”

“ Of course, my Lord.” Mairon gathered the length of his hair behind his head and knotted the long tail upon itself at his nape. “ Vermin, needle and catgut!” He called sharply. “ Wine, Master?” Mairon started to reach for the pitcher beside the bed.

“ No. Just get on with it.” Melkor looked balefully at the exit wound that gashed across his left foot.

“ Such a pity an elf can’t die twice.” Mairon muttered as he slid down the black sheets. Taking Melkor’s injured appendage into his lap, he bent to remove the dangling strip of linen.

The Lord of Shadow remained silent as the bedroom door opened enough to let Rat slide into the room. She bore a tray with a fresh roll of bandages, Mairon’s small tool roll, and a coil of catgut. Setting it down on the bed by the Maia, she picked the sheet off the carpeted floor and shoved it inelegantly onto the foot of the tall bed.

Melkor flicked blackened fingers in a dismissing gesture. “ Oh,” He added in afterthought, “ Tell Kosomot no Court today.”

Rat backed to the door. She gave her awkward squat of a curtsey just before she slid back through the small opening and closed the door behind her.

“ Are you sure you wouldn’t take a little wine before I start, Master?” Mairon asked as he unrolled his tools and selected a long curved needle.

“ I’m sure.” Melkor settled himself more comfortably against the deep mound of pillows. He watched as Mairon threaded a length of catgut, and laid out two more tools – a thin tweeze, and a sharp pair of scissors – on the bronze tray.

“ This will hurt.” Mairon’s copper brows drew down into a faint frown.

“ That can’t be helped.” Melkor acknowledged, “ But I know you’ll do your best, precious.”

“ For you, my Lord, my very best.” Mairon spoke in quiet sincerity, “ Always.”

**Author's Note:**

> This one just wanted to go everywhere but that's what I get for starting it when I had a fever. I tried, in editing, to whip this beast into some semblance of what I wanted it to be. Perhaps I should have used a longer whip. Or a Cat-O-Nine. Needless to say, I'm not happy enough with this piece to make it a Gift, but it was written - finished - with two people firmly in mind and hence the dedication.
> 
> I'd be grateful if any editing errors/typos/copy-paste problems were brought to my attention? And if the smut at the end was worth wading through the set-up/plot? (Cause smut's kinda my thing.)
> 
> As always - Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction from which no profit is made or desired but it is a contained work by a single author and no one has permission to reproduce, copy, or translate it, or parts of it, without express permission. 
> 
> Forgive me, Professor Tolkien, I know what I do - but I do it with love.


End file.
